I find no mention of any of the Twelve disciples between the crucifixion and the resurrection. On the longest day of their lives, they went home knee deep in grief, dropped into the oblivion of exhausted sleep, and woke to a dawn when it dawned on them afresh that all the horror was not a nightmare but the truth. He was dead. And now, what was truth?

The paradigm of their hopes and dreams-the wave of wonder they had ridden into the city days before, to the rhythm of "Hosanna" - had shifted, shattered, and their hearts were pierced by the fragments of their broken dreams.

If they heard, "It is finished," they didn't grasp the meaning dripping from that marred mouth. They only knew their own terrible loss.

It was finished. He was gone.

Life as they had hoped it would be faded to black.Only one sentence in Luke 23:56 describes that Saturday, "On the Sabbath they rested according to the commandment..." and even this verse seems to to be describing the women who were waiting for their chance to live their love for Him one more time by spice and ointment lovingly applied.

​The silence regarding the other followers, "the Twelve," is deafening. Perhaps it was for them a day even darker than the one before, if that were possible. As they rested, the reality of Friday's darkness must have settled over them like a shroud. ​

Golgotha, the place of the skull...

In many "Christian circles," the Saturday of Easter weekend has become a day of reprieve from the gloom of "Good Friday," (if we have even paused to consider the depth of that dark day.) When Saturday dawns, with golden sunrise and spring green glory blanketing the warming hills, our minds turn to Sunday, because we know what is next.

​We use the phrase, "It's Friday, but Sunday's coming." But Jesus first century followers didn't know that, did not live through that Saturday in joyful anticipation of a resurrection celebration.They sat in utter darkness of spirit; they were sitting in the deep shadow His death had cast across their lives.

I have always thought Friday must have been the worst day of their lives, but now I wonder if Saturday might have been even worse, as the memories crowded in and they saw Him there on the cross, dying, over and over again.

​They knew it was The End, and they trembled, thinking about what was to become of each of them, the men and women marked as The Followers.​They were facing the end of life as they had known it, as they had dared to dream it would be with their King and his Kingdom, but each one was also probably looking into the face of his or her own death.Their lives had been distilled to the bitterness of that one dark day, only to be followed by an even darker one.

One day from now, the blinding glory of the resurrection of Jesus would take them completely by surprise...(off guard?!!) The preposterous wonder of this truth would knock them into a new paradigm, and they never would never over it!! But not yet. Not on the saddest Sabbath they had ever known.

I think if we want to live, like those first followers of Jesus, in the audacious reality of Jesus resurrection,-really live in it!-​

​

we might need tolinger a bit longer in the truth of what life without Jesus looks like.​This Saturday between the smothering darkness and the indescribable light...Take time to walka little slower.Look back tothe darknessof the worstFriday ever.Dare to inhaleall the fearand the painand...ohh, theabandonmentof.that.one.terrible.day. Just Pause.

​​Even though you know Sunday is coming, give yourself to this day's interlude of grief and loss.

It’s Palm Sunday, which we usually think of as the beginning of Holy Week and also the last Sunday of Lent. (But when it happened, no one knew what was coming, or what was ending.)

On that day, Jesus rode a humble donkey into Jerusalem, and the crowds welcomed for the Hero they wanted, waving palm branches and throwing their cloaks on the road. The whole city was stirred up. ​The crowds that went before him and that followed him were shouting, Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest! (from Matthew 21:8-10, Mark 11:1-10, John 12:12-19)

Palm Sunday -it's just a nice pre-Easter church holiday for the kiddos where every little hand gets a palm branch, we sing some peppy praise songs, and all the small ones get to march in/around the sanctuary waving their branches and shouting “Hosanna!!” in a louder voice than is usually sanctioned in the sanctuary.

We don’t “bless” our palms, so they are generally discarded, and that’s it for Palm Sunday until next year!

We move on. To Holy Week and Good Friday, and Resurrection!

So long, hosanna!

But this year I've been thinking long thoughts about “Hosanna” thanks to a rather astonishing and thought provoking song by Andrew Peterson, (which I will link below.)

I’m realizing that “Hosanna” isn’t simply an Easter specific “cheer” for Jesus – like Praise the Lord, or Hallelujah.It’s not even really a word for kids, at least, not primarily for kids.

It’s a word for all of us honest enough to admit that life is really a mess sometimes…or most of the time, and if we know anything, we know that we are in over our heads, and we’re not going to make it without some help.

Hosanna is a combination of two words from Hebrew, the first of which (yasha) is a verb that means “to save, to help, to deliver, to defend.”

That’s what most of us need most days in one form or another.

We need saved, helped, delivered, defended.

We need a Savior.

And when do we need all of this?

Oh, God help us,we need it, ​we need You NOW,

which is the general understanding of the second Hebrew word, (naw), a participle of incitement and entreaty which might be translated – “I pray, now," or "please, now!”Yes.This.Is.what.I.need. ​

I need Hosanna. ​Hosanna. My life doesn’t look at all like I thought it would at this stage. Hosanna.

Hosanna. She is trying to be all her kids need, but she never planned to be a single parent. Hosanna.

Hosanna. The US just bombed a country for killing children, but we won’t take their refugees. Hosanna.

Hosanna. The abuse continues, and no one is listening to the truth. Hosanna.

Hosanna. That family received the broken body of their brave, peace-making son this weekend. Hosanna.

Hosanna. A sweet girl is on the run, (oh, Jesus, hundreds of sweet young girls) and the future looks terrifying and grim for every one of them. Hosanna.​Hosanna. It looks like their marriage is heading for a train wreck. Hosanna.​​

Are you seeing what I’m seeing? Everywhere I look- my world,- the whole world- is knee deep in need of Hosanna.

Hosanna (God save, deliver, help, defend us, now, please!)is a strong word for the hardest, toughest situations we will ever face. It is a dynamic word for the oppressed and down trodden,a loud word for those who have no voice,a priceless word for every one of us who has made a costly mess of life,a hopeful word for the ones who have given up. Hosanna is a desperate, pleading word expressing the great need of all of us.

(For those of you who have been reading my blog for awhile, this post might sound vaguely familiar. That's because it's a re-run! As we enter the season of Lent, the question comes up again, "What are you giving up for Lent?" I thought this topic might be worth revisiting, and as I updated it from the original post of March 2011, I realized I needed a fresh reminder too.)

I'm a Mennonite. I didn't grow up with the tradition of Lent. I suppose I had heard of it, but it never registered. I knew about Fasnacht Day, but not in relation to anything religious; it was just the day for doughnuts. But I didn't know why.

A decade or so ago, I learned (some things) about Lent. That it was for giving up things. (Then I wondered how in the world the Mennonites had missed out on this, since we historically havehad a strong affinity for the sacrificing of person comfort!) "What are you giving up for Lent," I'd hear people ask one another. Desserts. Television. Chocolate. Cigarettes. (I knew some guys who g﻿ave up smoking and "chewed" instead; ummm, is that legit?) Or, in more recent years, facebook. I wondered about all this giving up. What was the point? Did people do it for "Lent" or for God? Did they know which? Would it make any difference if they did? (And, did God really want all that stuff people were giving up?)

I'm still learning about Lent. Lent is a time of preparationthat should make sense to Christians of all brands and styles. It is a time for getting ourselves ready for all that is to come: the events of Holy Week culminating in the death of Jesus on the cross, and the celebration of His resurrection on Easter Sunday.

Christians know how to prepare, to anticipate. Just look at what we've done to Christmas. Certainly I'm not advocating that the frenzied, commercialized buzz of December (and November?!) becomes the template overlay for Easter. But we could learn something from Advent: Generous Preparation. Holy Hope. Joyful Anticipation.

Compared with Christmas, Easter is the event of events, the celebration of celebrations for Christians everywhere. And we (I) do so little to﻿prepare﻿. So, I'm rediscovering Lent.

But I'm not giving something up. Not exactly. I'm giving something.

I call it my Lenten List of Gratitude.

I started it (quite) a few years ago when I read a blog that challenged me to be grateful, to ﻿give thanks﻿ every day. No matter what. And to write my thanks. The list began during Lent. Daily I would watch for and record half a dozen gifts for which I was grateful.Daily. Half a dozen. Or more.Not donuts to give up, but blessings to write. I would give thanks to the Giver of every good gift.

It was a daunting task some days. I didn't feel grateful, I felt grumbly. I had reasons to sigh deeply and complain. And some days I did that. But I still made my list. Every day. I gave thanks for lunch with a friend, twizzlers, a < long ramble with Youngest Mystery, steaming coffee, strength to clean, words from the Word, peaceful rain, the chance to sit in church beside Eldest, a washing machine that worked, bugles (all other snacks are pointless!) e-mail from Barefoot Wanderer, and my thesaurus. By the time Easter rolled around and the stone was rolled away, I was adding #320 to my list: "'Love's redeeming work is done...' for me!" Easter had arrived and my Lenten List was finished.

Ah, but, I missed it. In the weeks following Easter, I'd see deepening green in the grass after days of rain and think, "I'll put that on my list." Oh, no list.

I began collecting experiences like sparkling glass beads: a line of lovely poetry, Youngest smiling as he chopped vegetables for soup, a hymn phrase- "strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow", the tangy sour deliciousness of sauerkraut. But I had no thread on which to string them, no way to save the patterns I saw emerging from my life's ordinary days.

So I began again, or rather, I continued. I found an empty notebook. (And then another.) Today, my pencil threads the beads on thin gray lines, row upon row upon row. It's been five years now, and I'm still gathering jeweled moments of gratitude. I am still learning the pleasure of rejoicing in small delights (birdsong and boy sparkle) and overlooked gifts (electricity, which I added to my list the day we had none for a few hours). I repeat myself some days, but that's okay, so does God. His mercies are new every morning, (thank God!) and so is my coffee. This steaming mug of Breakfast Blend is not the one for which I gave thanks yesterday. That bluebird, perched on the pole obstructing my garden view, he'll be gone next time I look up. An short hour from the moment when my eye first caught its shimmer, the delicate beauty of this ice lace will be erased by the sun. So I see it now. And give thanks.

And in the process ofgiving thanks, of list keeping, of watching for gifts given, I am changing, I am changed. I am better prepared to enter Holy Week, because my heart is filled with gratitude for daily splashes of grace. I am more aware of God at work in the little moments and nearly overwhelmed by the ocean reality of all that happened at the cross, at the tomb.

So, what am I giving up for Lent? How about ingratitude, how about blindness to God's daily grace given and received? I guess I am giving up something for Lent. Would you care to join me?

"It's Friday, but Sunday is coming." That's a quote we often hear or read during Holy Week, as we try to find a way to fast forward from the dark pain of Good Friday (which does seem like an oxymoron to me, and not only me apparently) to the light filled celebration of Easter Sunday.

It's a post-resurrection privilege I enjoyed today, spending Saturday preparing home and food for the upcoming Easter feast, hiking in warm spring sunshine, humming songs like "Up from the Grave He Arose," anticipating the return of whatever was given up for Lent…(except, this year I felt like I was abruptly required to give up my mother for Lent, an irreversible loss that grieves me deeply and will never be undone…well, I cannot say "never," but that bit comes near the end of the post.) All that to say… I spent the day looking forward, because indeed Sunday is coming. I don't think the disciples had the perspective of anticipation. What were Jesus followers doing Saturday? Were they gathered together, shell shocked mourners, sandal deep in pain? Were they in hiding, followers of a revolution gone bad, very very bad, now hoping against hope that those Romans weren't roaming the city, cleaning up the remaining rabble. Their Wonder Worker hadn't just let them down, he'd left them completely, and in the worst possible way. The sun had gone down on their lives, and they weren't sure there would ever be a sunrise. There wasn't a backup plan. As far as they could see, there hadn't even been a plan.

As far as they could see…which isn't much further than I can see most days, so I'm not giving them a hard time. I'm just figuring out that they were short sighted too. I like "it's Friday, but Sunday's coming," I just don't think they knew that. They didn't get it, shrouded as they were in vivid, ugly memories and groaning grief. They didn't remember what He had promised, not one of them. The women trekking to the tomb early with spices didn't say, "Look, the stone is gone, He DID rise from the dead." And when the women eventually told the disciples, no one believed them, no one said, "YES, YES, I knew He would!" Peter and John didn't accept what their own eyes told them when they saw the empty tomb, andthe Emmaus Road travelers didn't even recognize Him when He walked and talked with them. Grief blinded Mary mistook him for the gardener.

But all their unbelief, their short sightedness, didn't change reality.Jesus had risen, Jesus has risen, and what a difference it made, what a difference it makes, what a difference it will make! On my own darkest days, my no-good Fridays, I no longer need to sit utterly bereft and inconsolable. I still grieve, but the resurrection of Jesus announced, pronounced, created a paradigm shift, a great divide, a watershed for all tears. On this side of Jesus death and resurrection, I grieve differently than did the disciples that awful, eternal Saturday. I grieve with heaven whispering in my ear. I say good bye, but only for now, and not forever. I wait with hope and certainty and expectation.

On days when life is harder than I'd ever dreamed, and I'm the shell shocked mourner, I know something the disciples didn't know that Saturday, that dismal day that seemed to stretch in darkness to the vanishing point of a thousand unknown tomorrows. I know that Sunday is coming.

Author

I'm finding my way beyond the maze of the "middle" years (if I'm gonna be 100 and something someday...) ​living life as a country woman who is a writer, gardener, wife, mom, nature observer, teacher,and most of all a much loved child of God.